Beyond the Deepest Seas
You know the feeling — a wrong you committed surfaces out of nowhere and sits on your chest like a stone. You'd bury it if you could. But how deep is deep enough? The Titanic rests two and a half miles beneath the Atlantic, and the world still found it. Challenger Deep drops nearly seven miles, and even that's not far enough. The nearest star beyond our sun is 25 trillion miles away — still not enough distance to outrun what haunts you. But God didn't ask you to bury it. He already carried it farther than east is from west.
When the Doctor Closed the Door
I sat alone in a cavernous surgery waiting room, watching a cheerful episode of I Love Lucy that felt like a cruel joke against the silence of the hospital. I was only twenty-one years old when the surgeon finally walked in, his face tight with the kind of news that shatters a young man’s world in a single sentence. If you’ve ever felt the "mud and mire" rising around your feet, come read how a Gideon’s Bible and a steady hand helped me find solid ground when I had no strength left of my own.
From Barcode to Belonging
I spent five hours in a crowded Houston waiting room being addressed only as a juror number and a scanned barcode. The next day, I walked into my old school and was met with warm hugs and a chorus of familiar voices calling my name. It takes a moment of stark anonymity to remind us that we weren’t created to be scanned—we were created to be known by the God who loves us perfectly.
The Theology of Tarzan
I grew up thinking that repeating someone else’s prayer was a bit like cheating on a grammar test, as if God only graded the papers we wrote from scratch. But when life gets heavy and the words won't come, I’ve found that my prayers often have all the unrefined eloquence of Tarzan calling for help in a Saturday afternoon movie. If you’ve ever felt like your prayers are too blunt or awkward for Heaven, come read why a simple, desperate cry is often the fastest way to reach the hand of God.
The Vinegar Wake-Up Call
I reached for my first-day-of-school coffee expecting a much-needed jolt of caffeine, but I ended up with a mouthful of hot, cleaning vinegar instead. The shock of that bitter brew stayed with me all day, serving as a vivid reminder of how easily our own words can sour the lives of those around us. If you’ve ever caught yourself shifting from praise to complaining in the blink of an eye, come read why it’s time to rinse out the bitterness and start building others up.
The Lower Lights
I stood on the cold, gray granite of the New Hampshire coast, watching a lighthouse beam pierce through a biting wind that felt a world away from my Texas home. I realized then that while the great lighthouse marks the shore, it’s the smaller "lower lights" at the harbor’s edge that actually guide a ship safely through the jagged rocks. Our daily acts of kindness and encouragement are those smaller lights, and someone near you might be counting on your steady glow to find their way home tonight.
Beyond the Plastic Mask
I remember when the height of spectacular fashion was a fifty-nine-cent plastic Dracula mask held on by a single rubber band and two staples. Those cheesy costumes never really scared anyone, but as I grew older, I faced real terrors like a young wife’s tumor and the crushing weight of a mortgage I couldn't pay. If you are pacing the floor tonight worried about the future, come read why the best way to find peace is often to look back at the mountains God has already moved for you.
The Giant in the Ditch
I was out for a pre-dawn walk when a massive, looming silhouette near a drainage ditch nearly stopped my heart. I braced myself to face a giant, only to realize that things aren't always what they seem when the light hits them just right. If you’ve ever felt too ordinary or too flawed to matter in a much larger story, come read how a walk in the dark taught me that the size of a shadow has very little to do with the person casting it.
Embracing the True Father
For years, I viewed God as a bit of a cold Dickensian schoolmaster—stern, corrective, and always ready with a hard lesson. But as a father of three, I realized that few things brought me more joy than surprising my kids with a candy bar or holding them close after a disappointment. If I, a sinner, could love my children that fiercely, how much more does a perfect Father delight in us? Come read why my old view of God imploded like a derelict skyscraper, and how the "good gifts" of a Father changed everything I thought I knew about grace.
What Faith Looks Like in an Unraveling World
Four years after the chaos of COVID-19, life is still shifting underneath us—economy, unrest, people at each other’s throats. Some say faith means no fear; I wonder if that’s reckless. Scripture doesn’t say faith equals bravado. It balances trust and wisdom—like avoiding the oncoming traffic even when you're brave enough to cross the road. Sometimes faith is pausing, not running. It’s not a failure of belief. Maybe it’s a decision to walk wisely—and continue being a source of light anyway.